


One More For The Collection

by ubicaritas (Janet)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, unusual collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janet/pseuds/ubicaritas
Summary: Doyle has an ... unusual ... collection.





	One More For The Collection

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a challenge response to the Tea and Swiss Roll weekly obbo 338, "Blushing".

**One More For The Collection**   


It took a scant forty-five minutes to unravel the progress that two long, hard weeks of investigation, risk, and undercover work by CI5 had achieved.

A young Met copper, fresh on the beat and eager to prove himself; his older, more jaded DI, looking for an opportunity to find his way up and out of this stationhouse, into to a better post.  And a Superintendent, assigned for too long to this dreary part of the city, who got caught up in the energy of the moment, fuelled by the young constable’s excited report of intrigue at a warehouse they’d long thought was a base for criminal activity.  The merger of these three elements cultivated an outcome that was inevitable.

When it was over, the villains had scattered into the surrounding industrial land, melting away as though they had never been, the warehouse empty except for a pallet of empty crates that had once been filled with both weapons and ammunition, and the detritus of a few takeaway meals and cigarette ends littering the floor around it.  They’d left behind one other thing, perhaps reluctantly, since a couple of men had remained as protection until it was almost too late for them to get away.  But in the end, they too fled, abandoning their newest recruit on the dusty floor where he’d fallen, bleeding heavily with a bullet in his shoulder that he’d caught during the brief exchange of gunfire with the police.

The A Squad arrived even as the last of the shots were echoing around the warehouse.  Pouring out of vehicles, they swarmed in, past the startled police; in twos and threes they went, weapons drawn, movement sharp and precise.

Cowley was out of his car and striding toward the Superintendent even before his driver had fully eased to a stop.  His eyes bored into the uniformed man, causing the officer to straighten to an uncomfortable parade rest stance without a single word being said.

And then he did speak, the light brogue clipped and intense.  “Cowley, CI5,” he said, although he was certain the man knew who he was.  “Under whose authority, Superintendent…”  He stopped and tightened his focus of attention, looking for a nametag amidst the gleam of brass and buttons on the uniform tunic.

“Bryson, sir.”

“Very well, Superintendent Bryson.”  Cowley paused and began again.  “Under whose authority was this… _operation_ …’ he almost spat the word, “this action… carried out?”

“That would be mine, sir,” said the Superintendent, drawing himself even more upright under Cowley’s unwavering gaze.  “We got a report of activity here from one of the local lads, and his supervising Inspector put the plan together for my approval right quick, no more than thirty minutes, I’d say.”  He met the steely gaze with defiance of his own; his rank and position meant he was rarely questioned so.  “And, by God, Major Cowley, we got them on the run!  Weren’t expecting us at all…”

Cowley shifted his eyes briefly, looking beyond the yard, down the laneway and into the now-open warehouse door, where all his men were.  “Thirty minutes, you say,” he said.  “Tell me, Superintendent, in those thirty minutes, did you or anyone else look at the daily intelligence brief?  Check in with the other agencies after you discovered that there was activity in this area?”  He took a step towards the officer, eye contact back, suddenly that much closer to him.  “Thirty _seconds_ in your thirty minutes of preparation would have told you that this was a CI5 operation…” Uncharacteristically he was almost shouting now.  “And as such, we had a plan that did _not_ involve going in with guns blazing! Especially since we had a man on the inside!”  Cowley watched the defiance on the Superintendent’s face twist into something more like fear.  “Ah yes, that’s right, Bryson.  One of my men, in the middle of your gun battle...”

A shout from inside the warehouse interrupted the Controller’s tirade.

“Ambulance!  We need an ambulance, now!”

Cowley recognized Murphy’s voice, urgency behind the words.  But the next call had him stepping around the chagrined and spluttering police commander and heading into the warehouse at a pace that had the other man struggling to keep up behind him.

“Where’s 3-7?”  A pause.  “Bodie, over here!”  Murphy’s call echoed around the dimly-lit space.

More silence, then an answering shout from further inside was followed by the sound of running footsteps.

“It’s Doyle.  You’d better hurry…”  Murphy broke off and looked up at Cowley as he approached.  “He’s alive, sir, but he’s taken a bullet to the shoulder. It’s bleeding pretty hard.”

This time it was Cowley’s voice that spread through the warehouse.  “Get those medics in here now!”

*

Once he saw that Doyle was out of surgery and well settled into what would be a few days of recovery in hospital, Cowley had Bodie back out on the streets.  The case that had been rudely interrupted by the botched police intervention was still underway, after all, and now the attack on a CI5 agent would be added to the multitude of charges the members of the terror cell would be facing, if they were caught.

_When_ they were caught.

Cowley teamed Bodie with Murphy and instructed them not to return until they had the terrorists in custody.

“I’d like to look in on Doyle again, sir. You know, bring him some grapes, and whatnot, for when he wakes up.” Bodie had been at his most deferential to his Controller.  “Can’t have the poor petal wasting away on hospital rations… ‘t’s criminal what they call food in hospital, these days.”

George Cowley remained unmoved.  “All the more reason, then, to get Wallis and the rest of his cell under wraps, and quickly.”  Over the frames of his glasses he eyed the men standing in front of the desk.  “Well, go on, then,” he said.  “Why are you two still here?”

“On our way, sir,” said Murphy, grabbing his temporary partner’s arm and all but dragging him out the door.

The sharp _click_ as it closed was Bodie’s last word, showing how unhappy he was with the situation.  Cowley shook his head and smiled faintly, taking off his glasses and tossing them onto the pile of folders on his desk.  He’d stop in later to see Doyle himself, and bring some grapes with him.  Undoubtedly, they’d be joining the bag which would already be there, along with whatever else Bodie had managed to smuggle in to his partner.  Och, he knew his men, probably a lot better than they hoped he did.  Doyle would be fine, and Bodie would be effective on the job with Murphy.

The Wallis cell didn’t stand a chance; within a few hours they’d been cornered in another warehouse, only this time there was no police cock-up to foul the operation.  The Squad marched their unhappy prisoners to their waiting cars for the ride to CI5 headquarters, where they were met by the welcoming figure of George Cowley.

*

Ray Doyle was drifting, his mind beginning a slow journey through the clouds of cotton wool that were the residue of the general anaesthetic in his system.  He savoured the sensations as awareness returned… the gentle hiss of oxygen flowing and its taste as he breathed it in, the muted beeping of the array of medical technology which undoubtedly surrounded him… even the slight pinch of the plastic hospital ID bracelet fastened around his wrist as it tried to tangle with the tubing of his intravenous drip.  A touch of discomfort in his shoulder threaded its way in, too, although in this suspended place between wakefulness and sleep, the ache wasn’t yet enough to bother him.  What it did confirm to him was that he’d survived, again, and there was no small amount of comfort in that fact, even to his medication-hazy mind.

He must have moved slightly, or perhaps drew a deeper breath, because there was suddenly movement at his side, and a cool, familiar grip enveloped his hand.

“Ray.”

The voice was music to his ears, drawing him further out of the fog of the drugs.  He heard it speak his name again, as it alternately cajoled and encouraged him to complete his journey to wakefulness.

Reluctantly, Ray let go of the desire to burrow back into the warm comfort of unconsciousness.  He opened his eyes, blinking even in the relative dimness of the room.  Daylight filtered in through a small window’s partially-closed blinds, and there was a light on the wall above his bed, a ubiquitous feature present in most of the hospital rooms he’d woken up in over the years.

“Welcome back, sunshine.”

It was the voice again, so familiar and close to him, and he turned his head, seeking its source.  He was rewarded by the sight of his partner, perched on the edge of the also-ubiquitous uncomfortable plastic chair beside the bed.  Ray watched as Bodie tried to stretch his back, rolling his shoulders against obvious stiffness, all without losing his grip on his hand.  It was clear he’d been here for a while, keeping the watch as he had done many times before, a vigil which Ray himself had also done more often than he wanted to remember.

“Hey,” he said, or rather, tried to say.  His mouth was a desert, his throat parched and aching.  Seconds later, he felt a straw touch his lips, and he drank the offered water gratefully, enjoying the sensation of coolness as it soothed away some of the discomfort.  “Ta,” he managed to croak, ghosting a smile as the cup was taken away.

“Thought you were going to sleep the clock ’round.”  Bodie settled back into the chair and reclaimed his hold on Doyle’s hand.  “Last time the nurse was in to check on you, she looked a bit concerned.”

Ray managed an actual smile this time.  “No need for worry,” he said.  “Just catching up on me beauty rest.  Think I’ve been working too many long hours recently…”  He broke off, tiny beads of sweat suddenly appearing to accompany a sharp intake of breath.  “Ahh, Christ, that hurts…”

Bodie winced as the grip on his hand tightened.  “Mind the shoulder, Doyle,” he said. “Not quite ready to leap out of bed yet, mate.”

Ray closed his eyes, breathing through the pain as the euphoria he’d felt upon waking disappeared into the sharp reality of a bullet wound in his shoulder that had only just begun to knit itself together.

“No,” he finally said. “ ’M thinking I won’t be ready for a while.”  He looked at Bodie then, really looked, noting the shadow of stubble and the harsh lines of fatigue bracketing his partner’s mouth, the fine network around reddened eyes. “You should go home, mate… get some sleep.” He chuckled, breaking off as the movement jostled his shoulder again. “You look almost as bad as I feel…”

Bodie watched Doyle ride out the pain a second time.  “I’m going to call the nurse,” he said, reaching for the signal button at the side of the bed.  “You, old son, clearly need to be blissfully asleep for a little while longer.”  He eased away from the bed as the nurse responded promptly, leaning back against the wall of the small room to watch her settle Ray more comfortably on the pillows and coax him into drinking some water.

“Swallow these, Mr. Doyle,” she said, producing a little paper cup containing a pair of tablets from her uniform pocket.  “We’ll get you comfortable soon enough.”

It was a sign of how badly Ray was hurting that he took the tablets without protest.  He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, making every effort not to move his shoulder even the slightest bit.  He felt the gentle touch of his partner’s strong, capable hand brushing the sweat-dampened curls from his face, then the fleeting warmth of lips at his temple.  He was dimly aware of Bodie resuming his perch on the uncomfortable chair, pulled close once again to allow their hands to entwine.  The medication took hold quickly; the blessed relief easing both the pain from his shoulder and conscious thought from his exhausted mind.  Doyle slept, deep and dreamless and healing.

*

It was four more long days before Ray was released from hospital.  Even then, it was under the strictest of instructions from his doctor regarding rest and wearing the dreaded restrictive sling, _and_ agreeing to follow a detailed schedule of physiotherapy which was to begin the following week.

“This is totally unnecessary, you know.”  Ray hadn’t stopped griping since they’d left his room, Bodie carrying the pages of medical instructions, upcoming appointments, and the little white bag with the bottles of pills, and one of the long-suffering nurses from the ward pushing the wheelchair.  “I’m perfectly capable of walking out of here under me own power,” he continued, turning to Bodie with a look of pathos that might have brought a lesser man to tears.  “Go on, you tell her.”  He gestured down at himself with the arm that wasn’t tightly bound in a sling.  “The _legs_ are just fine, ta very much.”

“Oh, really?”  Bodie’s left eyebrow twitched upward.  The extra time in hospital had done nothing to improve his irascible partner’s disposition; this rant was just a continuation of what he’d been hearing for most of the last two days, once Ray had reached the point of staying awake for more than a few minutes at a time.  “And what exactly do you call that little wobble you took a few moments ago?”

“That was _not_ a wobble.” Ray was all wounded dignity and indignation. “The floor was slippery,” he said. “Me trainers needed a moment to get a good grip, that’s all.”

The eyebrow lifted impossibly higher.  “Sit back and enjoy the ride, sunshine,” Bodie said.  “You’ll be wishing for the care and consideration we’re giving you now, when you’re in thick with our Brian next week.”

Doyle slunk down in the chair, carefully avoiding movement of his damaged shoulder. “Christ, Bodie,” he said. “That’s a rotten thing to say to someone who’s barely out of hospital.  I need time to convalesce! Get some strength back…”  He trailed off, frowning at the look of smug satisfaction his partner exchanged with the nurse.  Bloody medication must have addled his brain, he thought in disgust, to allow him to fall into the trap so easily.

And then they were at the exit, wheeling the chair outside into the afternoon sun.  Doyle allowed Bodie to assist him up and into the front seat of the Capri, not that he needed the help, of course.  But the earlier ‘wobble’, as Bodie had called it, had been an unwelcome reminder that it was taking far too long for his near-legendary (within the ranks of CI5, or at the very least, his own mind) recuperative powers to kick in.  With a sigh he settled into the seat and closed his eyes; within a few blocks of the hospital he had dozed off, limp and relaxed with his head lolling against the window.

Bodie looked over at his partner, easing off the accelerator to make the drive a bit smoother… he didn’t want Ray to jolt awake from his taking a corner too fast.  He reached out and gave Ray’s leg a gentle squeeze.  Even in half-sleep his partner responded, a faint smile curling his lips, and his good hand creeping over to cover Bodie’s for a quick moment.

It was good to be going home.

*

Bodie eased the door shut behind him, automatically turning back to set the locks before making his way down the hall to the kitchen.  He’d slipped out to the shops to pick up some fresh food, including a variety of fruits and vegetables, to try and tempt his partner’s lacklustre appetite.  Ray claimed his medication was making him nauseous, and Bodie himself had enough experience with post-surgical drugs to make his gut twist in sympathy.  So, comfort food was definitely the way to go, although his own preferences differed extensively from those of his partner.  In the end, Bodie had compromised and brought back the best of both worlds, figuring the proteins in the ingredients for a good fry-up were necessary for the healing process, while the fruit and veg would provide the spiritual lift he clearly needed.

He quietly entered the kitchen and began to empty the shopping bags.  Doyle had been sleeping when he left, and he had no desire to disturb his needed rest.  Ray was taking a bit longer to bounce back from this injury; even his stay in hospital had stretched to an extra day or two.  Of course, what with leaving as much of his blood on that warehouse floor as he had done, it was no wonder that his get-up-and-go hadn’t fully returned.  There had been a tense few hours during and after the surgery to remove the bullet from Ray’s shoulder, until the transfusions had finally begun to make a difference.  Bodie shook his head, pushing aside the remembered fear that this time might have had a very different outcome. 

He plugged in the kettle and tossed a tea bag into his favourite mug (one he himself had bought for Ray as a Christmas gift a couple of years ago, proudly depicting a tourist-bait caricature of a London bobby – Ray had taken one look at it and banished it to the back of an upper shelf in the cupboard), deciding he’d wait until his partner awoke before preparing them both something to eat.

Bodie had just settled into a chair in the lounge when he heard a crash, followed by a collection of muffled curses that threatened to peel the paint off the walls.  Dropping his mug of tea on the coffee table, he charged down the hallway to the closed bedroom door.  When he swung the door open, he was greeted by the sight of an overturned stool, a shoebox-sized container with its contents scattered about, and a white-faced Ray Doyle sitting awkwardly on the floor, arm cradled against his body where it had slipped out of the sling.

*

Blackness flickered at the edge of Ray’s vision as he hit the floor.  He’d automatically rolled on landing, protecting his immobilized arm and shoulder as best he could by landing hard on his hip, but the abrupt stop jarred the wound and its stitches anyway, wringing from him a sharp cry and then leaving him gasping for breath.  He shifted his weight to his good side, swearing creatively as his arm swung free from its sling.  By the time the door burst open and Bodie stood there looking down at him in an equal combination of frowning concern and glowering anger, he’d managed to pull himself up to a half-sitting position, leaning against the end of the bed.  The evidence of the mishap, an overturned footstool, lay surrounded by the spilled contents of a wooden container, also upended on the floor beside the stool.

“Bloody _fucking_ hell, Doyle,” Bodie said.  “What d’you think you’re playing at, climbing and reaching for things,” he swept a hand over the debris-strewn floor, “when you’re just out of hospital and have a gimpy wing?! Christ, you’re barely able to stand upright on your own without… wobbling!”

“ ‘M all right, Bodie,” said Doyle, but the colour had yet to return to his face and there were new lines of strain around his eyes.  “Just give me half a minute to catch my breath, yeah?”

Bodie let Doyle have his requested thirty seconds, then prepared to light into him again.  But first, he plunked himself down on the floor beside his partner, checking to make sure he was actually all right, and hadn’t managed to injure himself further in his tumble.  Doyle’s muttered _“Gerroff”_ and his good hand batting questing fingers away were good signs, and Bodie allowed himself to relax slightly.

But only slightly.

“You great daft pillock,” Bodie said. “Do you want to tell me what was so all-fired important that you had to go climbing _right now_?  When you can barely stand on your own two feet, let alone reach a box over your head?! You could have seriously done yourself in, you know.  What if I wasn’t here?”

“Knew you were.”  Doyle’s tone was matter-of-fact.  “Made enough noise clattering around in the kitchen to wake up the dead, you did.” 

“That’s because I thought you might be sensible and want to enjoy a quiet meal with me later.” Bodie didn’t back off from his disapproval.  “Clearly I was mistaken. About you being sensible, that is.”

Doyle opened one eye to squint at his partner beside him, then closed it again and sighed.  “Felt all right a few moments ago,” he said. “ ‘S only when I stood up I got a bit…”

“Wobbly?”

The word produced a narrow-eyed glare from Doyle, but he didn’t protest when Bodie shifted close enough to carefully ease an arm in behind him and draw his head down onto his own shoulder.  He felt his partner’s hand stroke the tangled curls away from his forehead, and then the soft touch of a kiss.  The action had soothed him when he’d woken up in hospital, tense and in pain, after the surgery on his shoulder. Now it did the same again; with a sigh, Doyle closed his eyes and relaxed, absorbing the comfort being offered.

“Not wobbly,” he said. “Hate having an arm in a sling, that’s all.  Feel like I’m listing a bit to one side.”

“ ‘S’pose you are, after a fashion,” Bodie said. He trailed a finger over Doyle’s arm, which was once again supported by the sling.  “You’ve got enough bandaging wrapped around that shoulder.  It’s no surprise that you’re a bit off kilter. Not that I can really tell, of course” he added, and winced as Ray dug his unwrapped elbow smartly into Bodie’s ribs. “Oi!  That hurt!”

“It was supposed to.”

*

Doyle roused himself enough to lean over and start to gather the items which had spilled from the box.  His glare dared the other man to move, but in typical Bodie fashion he ignored the challenge and scooted over to help.  With a sigh Ray accepted his presence and shoved the box between them.  “Just put everything in,” he said, “and I’ll sort it all out later.”  He reached out cautiously to retrieve a couple of things that had bounced under the bed. 

Bodie watched for a moment, then leaned over and began to plunk things from the floor into the box.  He picked up a yellowed ticket stub, frayed around the edges and soft-feeling with age.  “Well, then,” he said, “this is a surprise.  I would never have pegged you as a fan.”

“That was a long time ago.”  Ray felt the need to defend his younger self’s taste in music.  “Came all the way down to London for that concert, with a couple of mates from school.”  He smiled at the memory.  “Don’t think any of our parents knew what we were up to.  Barely old enough to be making that journey on our own!”  Shaking his head, he added, “Christ, that was a long time ago.”

“Don’t take it too hard,” Bodie said.  “You older folk can get so, I don’t know, sentimental, about the good old days.”

Ray grabbed an item at hand and threw it at his partner.  “Berk”

“Pillock.” Bodie picked it up and was about to return the throw when it dawned on him what he was holding.  “Doyle,” he said, studying the remaining objects on the floor, then fixing a stare now growing with curiosity on his partner.  “What the hell… Are these what I think they are?”

Doyle sighed. “Yeah, they are.”  To his horror, he felt warmth creep up into his face, and he turned away, his desperate hope that Bodie wouldn’t notice simply not to be.

“Why, Raymond, old son, are you actually… _blushing_?”  He tucked a hand under Doyle’s chin and turned his face back up toward him.  “Christ, you are! And all over a few pieces of paper and plastic…”

Ray jerked away from his partner’s grasp, shuffling awkwardly to put some space between them.

Bodie shook his head.  “Still, this is kind of… unusual… for a collection, there, mate.  One might even say, a bit morbid.”  He squinted, trying to read a faded smudge of handwriting.

Pointedly silent, Ray continued to pick up the scattered bits and pieces.  Equally silent, Bodie watched, his gaze flicking over each item as it landed in the box.  He remained still until one of the small bits of plastic caught his eye.

“What the hell,” he said again, reaching out to snag and read the writing on the item in question.  He neatly evaded an almost frantic attempt to grab it back, unapologetic as Doyle hissed as he jostled his shoulder again. “This isn’t yours, it’s mine.”  The familiar eyebrow climbed as he looked at his partner.  “Why is this in your box, Ray?”

“Bodie,” said Doyle.  “I …”

“No – not here,” Bodie said abruptly.  “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable first.”  He stood, stretching after his stint on the floor, and turned to Doyle to offer an arm up.  But his stubborn, hard-headed partner had already pushed himself to his feet and stood, swaying slightly, his one good hand reaching out to the wall to steady himself. 

“Bloody hell, Doyle, are you _trying_ to pack your shoulder in again?”  Bodie steered him out the door and into the hallway, pausing half way down when Ray indicated he wanted to step into the loo.  “I’ll just make us some tea, then,” he said.  “Call if you need…”  But he was speaking to the door, as Doyle snapped it shut in his face. “… a hand.”  He continued into the kitchen, plugged the kettle in, and grabbed the larger teapot Ray usually saved for company from its place in the cupboard.  Getting the full story on his partner’s … collection … was going to take a bit of time, and he intended to be prepared.

*

Bodie had the tea poured and waiting on the coffee table in the lounge by the time Ray emerged from the hallway.  In his good arm he cradled the wooden box, filled once again with its assortment of items; he also had his pocketknife in his hand.  Bodie watched his partner place the box on the table, along with the knife, and then carefully ease himself onto the sofa, against the extra cushions that were there waiting for him.  Ray shifted around to make himself comfortable, or at least as much as he could, and still be able to reach the box in front of him.

“First things first,” Ray said, in response to Bodie’s inquiring eyebrow.  He picked up the knife in his left hand, and set the blade at his right wrist, sharp edge pointing away from his skin.  With a quick upwards flick, he sliced through the plastic bracelet on his arm, a remnant from his hospital stay.  “There,” he said. “Good thing I’m almost as handy,” he smirked as Bodie rolled his eyes, “… with my left as my right.  I’ve been meaning to do that for a couple of days, just too out of it to trust myself completely.”  He picked up the bracelet from his lap where it had fallen, and ceremonially placed it in the box on the table.  “Now it can join the rest.”

“The rest of the collection,” Bodie said.

“Yeah.”  Ray set his pocketknife back down. “My collection…”  He stroked a fingertip across the edge of the box, absently tracing the pattern of the grain.  The wood gleamed softly in the afternoon light, the patina of age unmistakable.  “I made this box, y’know,” he said.  “When I was ten, maybe eleven years old.  We had a neighbour, a couple of houses along the row… when his wife went and died on him suddenly, he had a lot of time on his hands and nobody to spend it with.  His hobby was woodworking, had a whole workshop set up in a shed in his yard.  Me mates and I saw it one day when we had to fetch our ball after it went over the fence.”  Ray smiled in remembrance of his carefree younger days.  “The old man was doing something with his tools and stopped to show us what they all did.  We couldn’t wait to get back to our game…”  He shook his head.  “But the next day I went and found him in his shed again, asked him what he was making, and if I could make something too.”

Bodie grinned.  “So even then you were showing your creative side,” he said. 

“He was pretty patient with me, considering I’d never used woodworking tools before,” Doyle said.  “But he showed me how to measure and cut the wood, glue the jointwork, then rub the finish into it.  Even helped me install the hasp and lock on the finished box, so me sisters wouldn’t be able to get into it.”

“A young lad’s got to have a place to secure his personal bits’n’pieces.”

“Exactly!  Not that they didn’t try, of course…”  Ray reached into the box and pulled out a tattered red ribbon with the words ‘1st Prize’ only just visible in faded gold script. “This was the first thing I put in,” he said. “For an art project at a school exhibition. Don’t even remember what it was, now, but here’s the ribbon.”

“What was the second thing?” Bodie tried to imagine a young Doyle, secreting things away from the prying eyes of his sisters.

“Eh, well…”  Ray poked around in the box for a moment. “That would be this,” he said, holding up a piece of yellowed plastic. “The first one in my… collection.”  He passed it over to Bodie’s waiting hand.

Bodie squinted at the spidery writing on the paper strip within its protective plastic cover.  “Doyle, Raymond, fourth floor ortho,” he said, after a moment of study. 

“Broke me right wrist in two places.”  Doyle looked at his arm, currently held tight in the sling to immobilize his shoulder.  “The doctor decided a couple of days in hospital was needed to keep me still enough for the bones to settle.”  He gave Bodie a sidelong glance and a rueful grin.  “Or maybe it was the knock on my head… yeah, come to think of it, that might’ve been the reason.”

Bodie set the bracelet down on the table. “So you kept this as a souvenir.”

Doyle nodded.  “There’s other things in the box, of course,” he said.  “My first razor, a school pin.  The ticket stub you were looking at earlier … that sort of thing.”  He paused.  “And then there’s the rest of… them.  Been putting’em in here since that first time.”  He pulled out a tattered length of plastic, the writing faded beyond legibility.  “This is the one I wore the longest.  Nearly two months.”

“That was for…” Bodie reached out a hand and cupped Doyle’s face, gently stroking the raised cheekbone with his thumb.

“Yeah.”  Ray closed his eyes and leaned, just for a moment, into his partner’s touch; he couldn’t help himself.  Bodie’s hands were tempered strength, equally capable of gripping hard enough to leave bruises and ghosting a caress across his skin that never failed to trigger gooseflesh.  The were warm and firm, calloused from the near-daily weapons drills they both did when they weren’t up to their eyeballs in an investigation… and he was surely addicted to their touch.

After a long moment he shifted, pulling back and trying to get comfortable, without much success, against the slumping sofa cushion. 

“Ready for one of your tablets, sunshine?”  Bodie was halfway up off the sofa to fetch the bottle, but subsided at a wave from his partner.  He did reach out and rescue the old hospital bracelet from Ray’s tightening grip, his thumb trailing across it in an unconscious echo of his earlier gesture before he placed it almost reverently back into the box.

“In a few moments,” Ray said, but those little lines of pain were surrounding his eyes again, and he couldn’t stop the slight tremor in his hand as he picked up his mug of tea.  A couple of fortifying slurps steadied him, and he set the mug back down and gave Bodie a long, level look.  “I know what you want the answer to,” he said.  “So go ahead and ask.”

Bodie reached for the box, bringing it off the table onto his lap.  He reached in and pulled out one, then two, and eventually a whole handful of plastic hospital bracelets.  “Christ, Ray,” he finally said, after skimming through the information found on them.  “This makes you look like a one-man disaster zone, mate.”  He shook his head.  “It’s a wonder you’re still walking this earth in one piece.”

“ ‘S not really as bad as it looks,” Ray said.  “That’s years of my life, there, almost all of them with me involved in an occupation that’s not known for its extreme record of safety.”  He nudged Bodie with his good hand.  “Besides, I’m sure your file looks pretty much like mine. What’s in it, at any rate.”

The last bracelet in the box found its way into Bodie’s hand, as he set aside the others on the table.  “And then there’s this,” he said.  “From the time…”  He trailed off, a wash of remembered pain and confusion robbing his ability to speak.  An echo of Doyle’s voice, roughened with emotion and berating him for something… a swirl of dark and angry faces from a past he’d thought was long buried, tormenting him through a long period of painful delirium… Bodie came back to the present with a jolt, winded and sucking in air as if he’d just run the obstacle course in Macklin’s playground, to find Ray looking at him with concern.

“All right, mate?”  The inquiry was gentle; Doyle knew exactly what had happened.

Bodie shook himself clear of the flashback, visibly forcing his tense shoulders to relax and his breathing to settle into a normal rate.  “Yeah,” he said, and held up the bracelet for Ray to see.  “You must have picked this out of the bin in my hospital room, since I do actually remember cutting it off when I got changed to leave.”  He looked up and saw Ray still watching.  “I had somewhere to go, and wanted no reminders of how much my back still hurt.”

“I remember that part too.” Doyle wasn’t smiling at the recollection.  “Even through the medicated haze I was in.”  He rubbed his hand over his abdomen, feeling a twinge of phantom pain from the vicious beating that was still an occasional visitor to his dreams, even a couple of years later.  “And yes, I did rescue it from the bin, after you left.”

“Why, Ray?  Why did you do that?” A pause.  “We weren’t… I mean, we hadn’t…”

At last he looked down, no longer meeting his partner’s deep blue gaze.  “That day you were attacked in Blacktown, when you were brought to hospital already so … ill…”  Ray took a deep breath.  “That was a real wakeup call, Bodie,” he said.  “It scared the bloody stuffing right out of me, that you might not make it.  I didn’t want to lose you as my partner, as my friend… and as maybe something more.  Something that we never took a chance at.” 

He pushed himself to his feet, swayed a bit as his shoulder set up a protest at the sudden movement, then walked slowly over to the window, looking down at the street below.  “I know we weren’t … involved … at that point,” he said.  “Well, maybe we were starting to be, just not all the way, yet.  But I wanted us to be… I knew I wanted more, _needed_ more.  So I grabbed that tiny little piece of you, something that proved you had survived.”  He turned and was startled by the close presence of his partner, his lover; he hadn’t heard him move.  “I added it to my collection.  And then, we…”

“And then we _did_ get involved.”  Bodie leaned in, and wrapped an arm around Ray’s waist, pulling him into a hug that was both strength for him to draw on, and caution so his aching shoulder was not further stressed.  They stood together for a time, until Bodie became aware of just how hard his lover was working to stay upright.  “Come along, sunshine,” he said. “You need to lie down, before you fall down.  Again.”

*

Bodie led Ray down the hall and into his bedroom, and then he brought him a mug of water and one of the helpful white tablets.

“I don’t think…”

“Shh, don’t think, then.”  Bodie watched as Ray swallowed the painkiller and then drank the rest of the water to chase the bitter-tasting pill down his throat.  “Let’s get you settled back into bed for a nice nap before dinner.  I’ve got food in for us, you know,” he said.  “As your cupboards were bare and all.”

Doyle raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest as Bodie steered him in the direction of his bed. “My cupboards are bare because my partner has been eating me out of house and home…”

“Oi!  Keeping myself nourished while tending to my recovering partner!”

“… while tending to my long and difficult recovery. Yeah.”  Doyle stretched out into the bed, trying to find a position where he could be comfortable, already feeling the pull of sleep as the medication started to kick in.  He looked up at Bodie.  “Thanks, mate,” he said.

Bodie reached over and ruffled Ray’s curly hair.  “Sleep well, sunshine,” he said.  He pulled the sheet and blanket up over his immobilized shoulder and straightened up to leave.  At the door he hesitated, looking back at his drowsing partner sprawled across the middle of the bed.  His jaw tightened as a wave of remembered worry and fear swept over him.  He thought he’d banished the feeling; it hadn’t been this strong since the hours in the hospital waiting room three days ago.  Without further contemplation he stepped back into the room, pausing only to peel out of his trousers and shirt before slipping under the covers.

Bodie took a deep breath as Ray reacted to his intrusion with a wordless mumble and a little ‘come-hither’ wriggle that managed to create just enough room so that bits of him weren’t left hanging off the edge of the bed.  What he _wanted_ to do was to grab hold of Ray and never let go.  In reality, though, he settled for draping a careful arm across his lover’s midsection and pulling them as close together as he could without jostling the damaged shoulder. 

He watched Ray relax, drift closer to sleep, and brushed the pulse in his neck with a gentle touch of his mouth. “Sleep well,” he said again.  “And I’m… honoured… to know that I’ve been in your ‘collection’ all this time.”  He felt, rather than saw, Ray’s smile, and settled himself more deeply into the pillows, ready to follow his partner into peaceful, healing slumber.

 

**_End_ **

 

 


End file.
